Feeling My Heart Break
by emeralddusk
Summary: Sonny is broken-hearted. A companion piece, but in no way a sequel to Trading Joy for Suffering.


Feeling My Heart Break

I remember when I was open to love. I was about fourteen. Maybe it seemed right at the time, but not now. He used to rub my back and stroke my hair in front of everyone. I was so proud...so content. How could I be so stupid? Why did someone else have to be in my life to to feel okay? My heart was his, and he knew it. Every power and strength I ever had was his, and he knew it. Since he had so much power, he decided to punish me, so he took my heart and shattered it right in front of me. I could feel the shining shards slash against my skin, cutting off some of my hair, and leaving me crippled and bleeding in the snow. The sky above me was so dark, so cold. Hardly any stars were showing.

What had I done? Why did he destroy everything we'd ever had? I could feel what remained of my heart bleeding. My breath grew cold, so cold it didn't show in the freezing night.

It's amazing what happens to the water in the dead of Winter: how it freezes over, and remains in place. I was only five when I saw my friend, Tawni fall through ice that was far too weak to hold her, and I saw her slowly freeze to death. Gallons of water flowed into her mouth, and her body froze from the inside out. The snow fell so hard that night.

Do you know what it feels like when the cold touches you so completely...When the wind chills your every nerve ending until you can't fathom it anymore? I lay in the hot bath water, everything but my blood-red face submerged. It felt like I'd never become warm again: Like I'd never know how it was to feel ever again.

I'm broken...Like a doll that fell from a high shelf. Burried under the snow, no one could hear my screams. It was that night, in my deepest fear, and my greatest depression, that I gave up on love. I felt my raven-colored hair blow in the violent breeze, letting the cold air touch my lips. "Never," I whispered, and I never broke my word.

Laying in my bed, my body still, I took in the night: I could feel the stinging wind inside my skin, taste the bloody snow in my mouth, and feel the broken heart inside my chest. I let out a cough-like sound, and felt the tears stream down my face, and that horrible lump burning in my throat.

_The Next Day..._

Things seems so different during daylight. Cuts don't hurt as much, disasters seem like bad dreams. Sometimes, though...your mind stays in tact, and you don't get relief. It still throbbed. The old Sonny Monroe had died...even after all I did to keep her alive. So many times in life, we expect some sort of emotional or life-changing climax, just like in the movies. That doesn't really happen, though, and it burns. What I did count on, though, was my vow: I'd never open up again. It was all too painful. All the love in my heart had been spent, and I barely loved myself anymore...much less any guy I met.

I'm the artistic type, I guess. While other people chose to cut themselves or drink themselves sick, I chose to write: Songs, poetry. That was who I am...or at least who I used to be. The tears still fresh, covering the sour, slimy remnants of last night, I sat down at my desk, my only light from the lamp, not from my own heart, I wrote out my feelings: "never again", it was called. It was a poem, not like the others I'd written, but then again, things had changed since then. I made a point to say that there was enough sad and angry music and poetry in the world, but I'd never felt like this before...

_I lay in my bed, my face scarred and my eyes red._

_Too weak to walk, I lay there alone. No voices to hear:_

_I've shut off my phone._

_No more mistakes to make, No more regrets to be had:_

_Save this business for another lass or lad._

_The burden is lifted, the strife left behind:_

_All those concerns are out of my mind._

_For love is a game others have played: Their trials too great, their futures left to fate:_

_I chose to stay myself, not fall again._

_Let the fickle-hearted find another of them...To pry out of their peace_

_To have their faults made well known,_

_Only to leave them standing alone._

_So tell me not that I am strange; That this is the idea that I need change,_

_For there are tasks that all must do: Struggles that face even me and you,_

_But love is a game that wants no one to join in,_

_That no member having been let in will allow any other even a chance to win._

_Burden me not with your cries and lies; "You'll find the right one when the time is right"._

_For the battle too hard for me to fight...Let those willing suffer those blows._

_I will suffer no more, this battle comes to a close..._

After I finished this painful, agonizing expression of my own agony, I fell down on my bed, and cried myself to sleep. Outside, I knew it was still cold. The wind blew hard, chilling me to my very bones. I'm not sure what time I woke up, but it was extremely early in the morning. Maybe about one.

I pulled my weak body off of the bed, and stumbled into my bathroom, feeling like a walking corpse. Not bothering to turn on the light, I let the moon illuminate the room as much as it needed to be: I was hideous. My eyes had extremely dark bags formed around them, as if burned on by hot brands. My long, wragged, almost stringy hair blocked much of my face, but not nearly enough. The reflection that stared back at me made my stomach sick. How could I have ever taken pride in myself? A new lump swelled up in my throat, and my eyes turned hot as tears formed in them. Out of raging sorrow and depression, I grabbed a razor off the counter, and pressed it against my arm.

Feeling a tear slide down my cheek, I closed my eyes, and slid the blade down my left shoulder, feeling the sharp silver gently slice through my flesh. I don't know why I did it. Maybe it was to force feeling into my numb body, maybe it was to punish myself. All I knew is that, in some scary, dark way, it felt good. A dark orb of blood swelled from the cut in my arm, then ran down my arm, stopping at my fingers. It's not glamorous. It was grusome, and it hurt, but I needed it, I thought.

Staring at the mirror, I started picking myself apart. There were so many things wrong, and I had to hold myself back from throwing up at the sight. No wonder he left me...I'm so ugly. Wrapping my hands around my large, bulging stomach, I felt self hatred flood my body. How dare I look like this? How dare I be this monster?

The night does things to people: It makes them tired, weak, depressed. Night means an end, just as Winter does. In the darkness, people can close themselves and fade away into the abyss. In the snow, we can freeze, stay still forever. I'd never lose the feeling of Winter, never let the frost melt off of my heart.


End file.
